midnight hour
by cedricsowner
Summary: Ilsa's harsh words to Chance at the end of "Kill Bob" were not well-received by a certain someone...


**Disclaimer: I do not own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.**

At first Ilsa thought it had been the rain that had woken her. When she had gone to bed, it had been pouring. But as she looked out of her bedroom window now, she saw nothing but soft drizzle. Then where was this noise coming from? A steady drip-drip, not terribly loud, but nerve grating in the silence of her apartment.

As she got up to look for the noise's source, she also noticed that the room temperature was unusually low. Shivering in her silken nightgown, she made her way to the master bathroom. It was the sink's faucet that was dripping; apparently she hadn't turned it off completely. Or maybe a light earthquake had loosened it a bit. Things like that happened.

Ilsa was almost back in her bed when the dripping noise started again. She was half-way to the bathroom when she noticed that this time it was coming from the kitchen area. Sighing at the nuisance, she padded downstairs and turned it off. Teeth slightly chattering (damn, was it cold!), she went back to her bedroom, only to notice that the dripping noise was now coming from the bathroom again. But not only from the sink, also from the shower and the tub!

Jesus Christ, she was so not in the mood to call janitorial services at this hour of the night.

Just as Ilsa had turned all faucets off, a blaring sound erupted from her bedroom that almost made her heart stop. It took her a moment to realize it was the TV. For whatever reason it had suddenly sprung to life. Ilsa rushed to turn it off. What the hell was going on? Was the building experiencing some kind of major electricity fluctuation?

She grabbed the remote and hit the power button. The ensuing silence was almost ear deafening in its suddenness, but only for a second. Then she heard the faucets in the kitchen and the bathroom beginning to flow.

Not to drip. _To flow_. As in _flowing full force_. As in someone must have _turned them on_ flowing full force.

This was when panic set in.

Reacting on instinct, Ilsa made a run for the bedroom door, only to have it slammed shut in her face inches from her nose. With a distinctive click it locked itself. She immediately threw herself against it, rattling at the doorknob and shouting at the top of her lungs, but her voice was almost immediately drowned out by the TV starting to blare again. With growing horror, Ilsa turned, stared at it and realized that it was also channel surfing on its own. Her breath coming out in ragged pants, her heart galloping in her chest, she took her phone and without thinking dialed the number of a certain Tenderloin warehouse.

Not only did the telephone not set up the connection, it also made a shrill, ear piercing sound that forced Ilsa to throw it into the farthest corner of the room.

"That's definitely enough, Katherine."

Glaring, Katherine Walters wheeled around, staring daggers at Marshall Pucci who had just appeared in the middle of his wife's bedroom. More because his sudden visit demanded her full attention than because she was willing to follow his orders, she relinquished her hold of the apartment. The TV stopped flipping channels and snapped back into normal sound level. The faucets stopped flowing. With a soft click, the door lock returned to its normal state. The only thing that remained out of the ordinary was the low temperature in the room, but some things you just can't help.

Still on edge but relieved that everything seemed to be working again, Ilsa fell on her bed, then got back up to collect the telephone. It was operating again, too, and she was already half-way through dialing Chance's number when the evening's conversation with him ambushed her full force. The look on his face when she had said that he had never…

No, she couldn't call him.

With shaking hands she crawled onto her bed and draped her blanket around her shoulders.

"She said Chance has never been in love with someone!", Katherine thundered and for a tiny moment the TV's sound level jumped again.

"She didn't say that because she wanted to hurt him. She said it because she was hurt… by me." Marshal paused and turned towards Ilsa. She looked pitiful, curled up into a tight ball under her blanket, light from the TV screen flickering across her huddled figure. "I wish I could explain all this to you, my heart", he whispered, before turning his attention back to Katherine: "She doesn't deserve this."

"He didn't deserve it either!"

"If you really cared about Chance, you would be with him right now, making sure he is alright and doesn't do anything stupid." He moved to his wife's side and lightly touched her shoulder. Ilsa shivered as a spot on her skin suddenly turned icy cold, but somehow there was also something comforting about the sensation. She huddled deeper into her blanket and, all of a sudden extremely exhausted, closed her eyes. Just before she drifted off to sleep completely, she caught the slightest whiff of a familiar aftershave she hadn't smelt in a long time. A smile passed over her face.

"It was the first thing I took care of", Katherine hissed before leaving the Puccis to themselves.

… … …

"What are you doing here, dude?" Guerrero quietly asked Winston, weapon cocked and ready.

"Chance's cell phone number appeared on my display, but no call. Thought I'd better check on him."

"Same with me", Guerrero nodded. Together they slowly made their way up the fire exit stairs, fully prepared for a confrontation with multiple intruders. To their great relief they found Chance unharmed on his sofa, albeit in a pitiful state: Apparently he had drunk too much and was now caught in some sort of restless slumber, tossing and turning, moaning painfully.

"I fix some coffee and you wake him up", Winston decided after looking at him for a long moment. For once Guerrero didn't argue. Waking up Chance when he was not expecting it was dangerous and he was far more qualified to deal with his friend lashing out in an instinctive act of self-defense than Winston.

Winston was almost out the door when he suddenly paused. "Is it just me or is it smelling of cookies in here? And why in the world is it so goddamn cold?"

At this very moment Carmine, who had slept at Chance's feet, jumped up, yelped happily and started wagging his stumpy tail.

Chance, meanwhile, shivered briefly, as if something very cold had touched his shoulder. Then he sighed deeply and stopped tossing.


End file.
